Misplaced
by Tarja the wind witch
Summary: Thrown into a wholly different world, would a drow wizard and an half-demon manage to adapt and survive? Contains heavy spoilers of War of the Spider Queen series. Rated M for violence and possibly physical love in later chaps. You have been warned
1. Stranger in the alley

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters except the OCs. All published characters belong to the respective owners. I do not make a £ from this.**

WARNINGS FOR ALL THE SERIES:  
Contains heavy spoilers from WOSQ series of Forgotten Realms. Basically, I am telling you the ending, so, if you do not want to know it, do not read this story.  
It will also contain gory scenes, nothing worse than seen in WOSQ series, which was pretty bad, however, especially some bits in the last two books.  
It may contain love scenes, depending on how I manage the character development.

Chapter-specific warnings will be posted chapter by chapter.

The main characters will be the BPRD team, post-HBII movie, and Pharaum and Jeggred from WOSQ. This story is not in any way connected to my previous HB story "Howling in the desert", which by the way has been discontinued.

Flame all you want. I am fireproof.

Enjoy!

* * *

Kalandorl heaved the bucket full of organic waste, scraps of plants and animal parts used as magical components, over his shoulder and strode whistling towards the alley. The kobolds had implemented a new waste management system, which was quite efficient. He didn't dare imagine who would want to use a compost made of magical components, and what would grow from it, but the kobolds were happy, the enclave was cleaner and the trade flowed. So far, so good, he mused.  
On second thoughts, the magically enhanced compost was probably the cause of the latest awfully powerful crops of healing herbs and ganja. A group of Caribbean forest-spirits was making heaps of money from it. Kalandorl had tried it once and, even if it cost a bundle, it was worth every penny, a real psychedelic experience…  
Still whistling, Kalandorl put the bucket on the ground and struggled to open the waste container. It looked roughly like the ones the humans used, but instead of being made of plastic, it was made of a strange goblin-crafted alloy, specially designed to contain magical emanations. This container was used by pretty much everyone in the magic shop district of the enclave. His parents were among the first to adhere to the scheme and old grumpy Sapithra was the last, after thorough convincing by an entrepreneurial kobold. The old bat now claimed that it had been her idea from the beginning, but everyone in the district knew better. Not that they told it to her face. The old du sidhe sorceress was famed for her temper and her trigger-happiness.

Kalandorl grunted, lifting the heavy lid of the container, hinges squeaking and gathered the bucket, shaking its contents into the bigger container. It was almost full, he thought. Time to call Dietrich and have his boys empty it.  
Kalandorl closed the lid with a snapping sound and was turning to exit the alley, when he heard a pained groan. He turned back and peered in the alley. The groan resounded again, accompanied by a feverish litany. Kalandorl stepped beyond the container and thought he saw a shadow curled next to a stack of crates. Cautiously, he approached the crates. It must be a homeless drunkard nursing his hangover, he thought. He stepped closer and the shadow erupted from his hideout, a sharp knife clutched in his trembling hands. Kalandorl parried the clumsy blow with the bucket, then dropped it and grabbed the aggressor's wrist, forcing him to drop the weapon. The aggressor collapsed in a stupor.  
Kalandorl let go of him and he curled on the floor, trembling and muttering incoherently. Kelandorl gave him a quick once-over, scratching his head reflexively. His aggressor was a slim and short du sidhe, probably from the isles, if he was any judge. Irish du sidhe, as he was, tended to be quite tall and the Scandinavians even more so: his cousin Terhentar, whose mother was Finnish, was six foot six inches for screaming out loud. This guy was barely five foot tall, so either he was a midget or he was from the isles. The islanders tended to be quite short, very short in fact, but made up for their height with viciousness.  
He did not smell like cheap alcohol and piss, as most homeless did, and his clothes had been elegant and opulent, silken-looking and full of embroideries and decorations, but now they were torn and filthy. His white hair was long and lanky, possibly unwashed for a long time and he carried the accoutrements of a magician, an accomplished and wealthy one by the look of it.

"The spiders… - the stranger moaned – Spiders everywhere. Crawling, biting, clawing."  
Kalandorl eyed him perplexed. Maybe he was on drugs? He had heard of a human drug called heroine and heard that sometimes the junkies felt like they had insects crawling all over their skin.  
How a du sidhe sorcerer could fall prey of a human drug was beyond his comprehension.  
"The Goddess will rise. The demons are defeated. Quenthel, do not let me die like this!" the stranger pleaded hoarsely, quaking.  
"Great. – Kalandor mused aloud – Now we are having a religious delirium, aren't we?" he asked to the stranger. He could not leave him like this in the alley, he needed assistance, at least until the high of the drugs lasted.  
Sighing, he stooped down and lifted the semi-unconscious stranger carrying him over his shoulder in the so-called fireman's grip. Thankfully, he was quite light, but he stank like sweat and blood and sulfur. Kalandorl wrinkled his nose and sighed again, heading for the backdoor of his parents' shop.  
He kicked the door open and entered the workshop. His mother gave him an irritated look, which changed into a concerned one as soon as she noticed the stranger. "What happens, son?" she asked, wiping her hands on her lab coat.  
"I found him barely conscious in the alley, probably high on drugs. Couldn't leave him out there, could I?" he replied.  
"Of course not. –she agreed – Do you know him?"  
"Nope. Never seen him before." he sighed.  
His mother wringed her hands briefly. She always did that when she was upset.  
"Let's put him down on the spare cot and call your father." she ordered.  
Kalandorl nodded his assent and headed towards the break-room. There were some chairs and a spare cot, used to relax after a hard preparation or during lunchtime. He lowered the stranger on the cot and wiped his hands on his trousers. His parents arrived in an instant. "Your mother told me about the stranger. – his father said – Let me have a look at him." His father was a renown healer, his salves and potions fetched a good price on the market. He also had some training as a surgeon and collected human books about medicine. There was no one he'd rather have at his bedside when he was sick.  
His father kneeled beside the cot and felt the stranger's pulse, then lifted one of his eyelids and examined his pupil. "Either he is very high on drugs, or in deep shock. Fast pulse, pinprick pupils and clammy skin. –he commented drily - Heroine, if I am any judge, but he also looks like he was assaulted."  
He lifted the stranger's hand again and examined it. "His clothes are slashed and burned and his left ring finger is missing." he noted. Kalandorl stole a glance at the stranger's hand. His finger looked torn out violently, the edges of the wound ragged, but the wound looked quite old. ""I'll bandage his hand. – his father said, sighing – I suggest keeping him under observation for at least a day and informing the constable. Maybe his is missing from somewhere."  
Kalandor and his mother nodded. It seemed a sensible opinion.  
"Perhaps tomorrow he will be better and will be able to tell us something." Kalandorl said, leaving the room. "Meanwhile, I'll alert the constable." His parents nodded in assent. "Put the Be-Back-Soon sign on the door, will you?" his mother asked.  
"Of course mom. – Kalandorl replied – I'll be back in half an hour, if all goes well."

Contrary to their expectations, the stranger did not regain consciousness the following day or the day after, or even two days later. He was still going in and out of consciousness, but never lucid. He often started hallucinating about spiders and demons and merciless goddesses and turned and tossed restlessly in his sleep. It was pitiful, really. Kalandorl and his parents had to move him from the break room to the main part of the house and took turns in nursing him. They placed him in Kalandor's sister's old room. Unconscious as he was, he could not be disturbed by the fashion model photographs and dress sketches stuck on every free surface. The bed was covered by a bright pink duvet and the desk was still cluttered with pens and markers. It had been a year since she left home, with her hair neatly cornrowed and dyed a deep black, a toch of glamour to look more human and a fake ID obtained through the BPRD, to become a fashion designer in the world above. His parents were not happy about it, but they had to let her go. Her room, however, was still as she left it, in case she returned for a quick visit.  
His father has brought some colleagues over for a visit and they concurred that the stranger's condition was too long to be a drug high. "Except if he fried his brain with it, that is." added a goblin herbalist in a nasal thin voice, shaking his head. The current working hypothesis was that he was in deep shock from some traumatic event. But nobody had any idea about what had happened to him.  
His mother kept him fed and warm, waiting for him to come round or for the constable to get any info, but apparently nobody has reported the disappearance of an islander du sidhe sorcerer.

"Come on man, get a grip! Do you want to stay like that forever?" he muttered angrily to the unconscious form. It had been ten days since he found him and he had not got any better.  
"Kalandorl? Who are you talking to?" a familiar voice asked from the doorstep.  
"Aibhlinn?" he exclaimed, turning towards his sister. She looked gorgeous in a human-crafted designer suit, her hair still dark and styled in hundreds of thin braids. He jumped to his feet and smothered her into a tight embrace. "When did you arrive?"  
"Just now. – she said – I slipped in though the back entrance. Ma and Da have not seen me yet. Why there is a stranger in my bed?" she asked, quirking a perfect eyebrow.  
"Oh, do you mean Mr. nobody here? – he replied, jerking a thumb towards the unconscious stranger – We found him raving in an alley ten days ago. Hasn't resurfaced yet." he shrugged.  
"Mr. Nobody?" she repeated, quizzically.  
Or John Doe, or U., if you prefer." Kalandorl laughed softly. "We have no idea of who he is. We only know he is a wizard."  
Aibhlinn eyed him with a concerned look.

"Danifae! Quenthel! Anyone, please help me! I don't want to die like this…" the stranger sobbed, thrashing.  
Aibhlinn gasped and Kalandor rushed to the bed to restrain the stranger, lest he fell of the bed and injured himself.  
"Do not worry, he does that all the time." Kalandor said, voice strained from the effort. The guy was thin but quite strong. Finally he calmed down, slipping into a fitful sleep.  
"Poor guy… -Aibhlinn said – Who are Quenthel and Danifae?"  
Kalandorl shrugged. "Du sidhe like us, by the names, but blast me if I know them. Seems like they were this guy's battle buddies, from what he says. - he commented drily – Not that his words are very reliable, mind you…"  
"Battle buddies?" Aibhlinn asked, uncomprehending.  
"Battling against demons, apparently. – Kalandorl added – In the name of some Goddess. But he may be making everything up. Who knows what is passing in that weird mind of his?"  
"I'll call Terhentar." his sister announced, quite firmly, fishing one weird human device from her bag.  
"What for?" he asked.  
She eyed him with a bit of irritation as if he was a bit too slow for his own good. "She is a frigging battle priestess, isn't she? She might well know these Quenthel and Danifae persons or might know someone who knows them and give us a clue about Sleeping Beauty here. Better than nothing isn't it?" she replied heatedly, folding her arms across her chest.  
"Sure thing, yes. Go on. " he acquiesced, a little abashed about not having the idea first. As usual, Aibhlinn was faster than lightning, compared to him.  
She dialed their cousin's number on the human contraption and brought it near her ear.

"Terhi?" she saluted.  
"Terhi, love, it's me Aibhlinn." Kalandorl thought the endearment was a little ridiculous for a huge, bloodthirsty, axe-wielding battle priestess, but kept quiet.  
"I have a question for you. Do you know any battle-priestess called Quenthel or Danifae?" she asked.  
There was a moment of silence. "Why do I ask? – his sister continued – My parents found a nameless guy unconscious in an alley and he keeps calling for those two, so maybe you knew them and could tell us who this bloke is."  
"You do not? It didn't hurt trying, did it? – she mused – Could you do me a favour? Could you ask your colleagues if they know them?"  
Another pause. "Yes, that would be great. Brilliant. – Aibhlinn congratulated – Good luck with your mission. See you!" Aibhlinn ended the call and hid the contraption back into her bag.  
"She will ask around and will come calling as soon as she can." she announced enthusiastically.  
"Well, at least we have a lead." Kalandorl sighed "Now why don't we go downstairs to Mum and Dad. I am sure you have loads of things to tell us."  
"In fact I do! – she exclaimed – It has been a busy period and very rewarding. I can't wait to tell you everything."

Kalandorl sighed. It would be a long day indeed.


	2. Forsaken?

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters except the OCs. All published characters belong to the respective owners. I do not make a £ from this.**

**Warning: heavy spoilers from WOSQ and mentioned gruesome deaths.  
**

**Flame all you want. I am fireproof.**

**Enjoy!  
**

* * *

_No pain, no screams. Nothing.  
He smiled. When he opened his eyes he would be in presence of the goddess. Nothing else would matter. He had served her well.  
_A flash of light passed under his eyelids.  
_"But you have not served me well." his aunt said lifting her snake-headed whip. Pain. Unbearable, nauseating, all-consuming. He remembered. Blood. Spiders crawling everywhere in his field of vision, however limited. Despair.  
There was nothing he could do to save himself. Too weak to move, too weak to fight. Death approached swiftly and without mercy. He wondered if they had felt as he did now, the traitor Faeryl and the surface elf priestess. Helpless.  
Even if he had the strength to fight, he simply could not. He was not supposed to fight against the Goddess' servants, was he? He would die, if it was the Goddess will, but that thought did not make it less agonizing. He cursed his demonic blood, that could keep him alive and partly conscious through all this pain.  
Then it was over. He would be rewarded for his faith and service. He had lived, fought and died for Her, defied his own blood for Her. She would remember, even after the transformation. He had faith._

Slowly he opened his eyes, to find himself staring at a bleak stone ceiling.  
A damp stale smell was in the air. It was very different from the sulfur and blood smell of the Demonweb Pits. It was cold and he was lying on his back on an even surface. A slab of stone perhaps?  
There was only one way to find out. Carefully, watching out for signs of pain, he sat up and looked around. Apparently, he was on the floor of a tunnel. Both the floor and the walls were regular but bare and looked like they had been fashioned from a single block of stone. They were suspiciously smooth. He heard no sounds and felt no presence in the immediate surroundings. The air smelled of damp and rust.  
The situation was unnerving to say the least. Where was he?  
Shaking his head, he got to his feet, and almost knocked himself out again by hitting his head hard on the ceiling.  
He muttered a really blaspheme curse and growled. He so hated low ceilings…  
Shaking his head to clear it from the dizziness, he tried to stand again, stooping as to avoid hitting the ceiling again. He felt shaky, but whole. He looked at his hands and was surprised to notice that they were all there, even the one remembered losing to a _uthroloth_ axe during the fight on the Burning Plains. "What the…?" he thought, clenching and unclenching his fists. Thoughtfully, he raised a hand to his face, feeling for signs of scars. He remembered receiving a long jagged wound on his face and losing one eye, another enemy axe, as far as he could remember, but his face was whole and intact. He wondered briefly how it could be, then dropped his reflections. His top priority was discovering where he was, whether he was still in the Goddess' realm. Maybe the area where the souls of the worthy dead resided was different from the rest of the Demonweb Pits and it stood to reason that his wounds, the wounds he sustained for Her, would have been erased if he had attained that exalted status.

Half-crouching, Jeggred jogged along the tunnel. One direction seemed much alike the other to him, his sense of direction still scrambled, so he followed the path which smelled less damp.  
The tunnel continued, featureless, for some hundreds of paces, then widened a lot and heightened enough to let him stand straight. A sigh of relief left his lips, his neck and back were starting to cramp. He rose to full height and gave a circular look to the room. It was made out of the same grey not-exactly-rock as the tunnel, roughly square and softly illuminated by sources of light embedded in the ceiling. He let go of his darkvision, blinking repeatedly. It was not uncomfortable, but it was strange. The Demonweb Pits had no such lights, yellowish and sickly, but a reddish gloom, much easier on the eyes. A lot of tunnels led out of the room in many directions and strange rusty machines, levers and gears, dotted its walls. Jeggred heard the noise of running water. The entrances of the tunnels were marked with strange glyphs in black and yellow paint, unlike any other he had ever seen. He could not read anyway, but at least he recognized the delicate shapes of the drow alphabet and during their quest he had come to know the angular ugly runes of the duergar. The black-and-yellow signs looked like neither. The tunnel he had just exited was marked with a strange triangle with two lines extending from it. He tried to commit the symbol to his memory, in case he had to retrace his steps, then decided to add a mark of his own on the wall, just in case. He extended his claws and carved a rough, uncouth version of the rune for "refuge" in the not-stone. That would do, he thought. He walked across the square room, feeling a dreadful feeling of alienness emanating from the place. There was nothing to make him think of the Demonweb Pits or of the Underdark. The outer areas of Lolth's dominion were dotted with wrecked machines as well, he remembered, but they were warlike constructs, all over spikes and blades, while these were harmless-looking. Shaking his head again, he chose one of the tunnels at random and trudged into it, stooping again. The tunnel ended rather abruptly into a railed metal staircase, leading to a sort of subterranean river, its banks carefully coated with the same dull grey not-stone. The water ran swiftly and clear and seemed clean. Jeggred descended the staircase cautiously and approached the rives, sniffing the air. He kneeled on the bank and immersed a hand in the cold water bringing it to his mouth. It tasted clean and safe. Cupping his hands to scoop the water, Jeggred drank greedily, sating his thirst, then took his waterskin and immersed it in the river, refilling it. At least he knew where to find water in this place, whatever it was, he thought, standing up.  
He followed the bank of the river for a while, but found nothing interesting, except more gears and levers in the walls. The river ended in a loud waterfall closed by something that looked quite like a grate. Another tunnel started nearby and Jeggred, carving his symbol again, took it without much hesitation. The tunnel was very long and descended sharply, turning quite a few times. The air was getting increasingly warmer and fouler as he descended. This tunnel also ended on the bank of a river, but a river most foul. It smelled like a tannery or an old, never cleaned, cesspit. "It is a river of shit!" he thought, disgusted, wrinkling his nose. The stench was so strong to make him gag.  
"What sort of place has an underground river of excrements?" he wondered aloud, feeling with increasing certainty that he was not where he should have been.

A scurrying sound near him made him nearly jump out of his skin. _Hungry scuttling spiders, scurrying mercilessly towards him_, _composite eyes glinting under the not-sun of the Demonweb Pits, a living blanket of sharp legs and chittering mandibles._ Jeggerd felt nauseous, his head spinning, his hands becoming slippery with sweat, his legs trembling. He could not breathe. He was terrified, like an infidel, like a frigging surface elf. Rage rose over the terror and he punched the wall as hard as he could with one of his combat hands. The not-stone dented and the skin on his knuckles split, leaving a smear of blood on the wall. The pain grounded him and helped him regain a bit control over himself. "No spiders here, see? Just rats. – he mentally chided himself, leaning on the wall for support, waiting for the tremors to stop – Quit acting like a fairy girl. Get a grip!"  
It was easier said than done. Still shaking, Jeggred turned towards the source of the noise, a group of rats squeaking and squabbling over a piece of something foul. He growled, irritated by the rats and his own stupid weakness. He still had faith, he had faith, he would not be weak, he repeated like a mantra.  
He would be worthy, he sighed, turning back to exit the shitty area. He had been hungry, but he was still feeling queasy and didn't want to eat rats who lived in such a crappy place, if he had any other option.  
He would explore the place and find a way out, or at least somebody who could tell him where he was, a _jalil _preferably. He would make it, even if he was alone and unguided. He would.


	3. Rough Night at the BPRD

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters except the OCs. All published characters belong to the respective owners. I do not make a £ from this.**

**Warnings: rude language.  
This chapter introduces the new situation roughly a couple of years after the end of HBII movie. Possible spoilers.  
**

**Flame all you want. I am fireproof.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

The Bureau was busier and messier than ever tonight, Terhentar thought, stalking between the desks. Human and faerie folk agents milled around, engaged in different tasks, too busy to acknowledge her.  
The lock-up was full of drunken and disorderly goblins, faeries and sidhe, still insulting each other through the bars and she recognized the enclave constables gathered around one of the desks, liaising with one of the agents.  
"What's up tonight?" she asked, approaching the cluster.  
One of the constables, a spindly thin pixie, saluted her. "There was a riot during the Ulster vs Connacht hurling match." he explained, rolling his grass-green eyes in annoyance.  
"Yeah. The Connacht boys were winning, - a burly dwarf added, shrugging his massive shoulders – when some bugger from the Ulster side started chanting about Queen Maeve being a lousy poxy whore."  
"And then the Connacht side responded by singing that the Ulstermen are a bunch of sissy pansies because they are still under British dominion…" the pixie continued, disconsolately.  
Terhentar cringed. If you wanted to start a fight with an Ulsterman, that would be an ideal way.  
"As you can imagine, - another constable added, a kobold with a thick Polish accent – all hell broke loose. I do not understand why they become so winded up because of a sport…"  
"it is not just a sport, it is a tradition." a sidhe constable added. He sported a big bruise on his pale cheekbone.  
"Well, tradition or no tradition, - chimed in the dwarf, chewing a gum or a piece of tobacco with gusto – the fact is that we had to call in the agents to control the fighters. Bunch of buggers..." he growled, spitting into the paper bin. Tobacco was it.  
"They exceeded a bit, I have to admit it." the sidhe said softly.  
"Just a bit?" goaded the pixie.  
"Well… Maybe more than a bit. - admitted the sidhe - But fighting at hurling matches is traditional. And punching Connachtmen is traditional as well." he added in an undertone.  
Terhentar laughed. "Do not ask me, - she said – my father is from Munster."  
"But you must have played hurling at least a bit when you were a kid. – the sidhe said – Everybody from Ireland does."  
Terhentar shrugged. "My mother is Finnish. I played eigthman in the Irish women rugby team."  
The sidhe constable shook his head, disconsolately. An Ulsterman, for sure, torn between his constable duty and the urge to punch some Connachtman face.

Terhentar shrugged again and headed towards her desk, near the door leading to the superiors' offices.  
She had been hired into the BPRD barely a year before, during the faerie folk hiring spree. As far as she knew, the BPRD had undergone a serious reform, since the new president had been elected. Before, it had been a small secret squad, whose duty was to eliminate potential supernatural threats, while now it had become more like police than an assassination commando. Its duties now included policing the enclaves and investigating and preventing normal crimes in those areas, therefore many "hidden citizens" as they were now called, were hired as agents, alongside the humans. Most of them had been enclave constables which had been grandfathered in, but some unexpected people had cropped up as well, including her.

She had originally been hired as a support healer, but had been later promoted to the elite troop. She was quite a lousy healer, but she knew her business in fighting.  
She was a priestess of Anat, for heaven's sake, sworn and trained to protect the people and slay demons. She had always done that, quite illegally, ever since she her initiation, but now she had the possibility to do it legally and was also paid for it. She still could not believe her luck.  
Zabiba, a young djinn from Lebanon, walked before her desk and greeted her with a nod. She was the new healer of the BPRD and she was extra-competent and caring. "How are things going 'Biba?" she enquired. Her friend smiled and adjusted her hijab over her ears, a bright turquoise today, as the rest of her garments.  
"The kids are doing fine at school, thankfully. – she said softly. She had twins, who had just began to go to school and she was worried whether they would adapt – And you? Is your family well?"  
"Fine, thanks. The pub is still full of people and Ma and Da are healthy and happy. What could I ask more?" she replied.  
"A nice boyfriend?" Zabiba joked. She knew Terhentar was picky about men and not interested in any relationship, but she kept pulling her leg nonetheless.  
Terhentar snarled playfully. "Not everyone is made for conjugal bliss." she said with finality.  
Zabiba laughed heartlily, a clean and nice sound. This was their usual routine.  
"I heard Capitain Sapien has been ill in the last few days. – she whispered conspiratorially – They say it is too much stress and not enough sleep. He looked like hell the last time I saw him…" she sounded concerned. She was a healer, it was in her nature to care about people. As far as Terhentar knew, Capitan Sapien was working himself to exhaustion to put grief in the back burner. People said it was because of a lost love and rumor had it that it was no other than the late sidhe princess Nuala, but it was considered good policy not to probe too much.

As if summoned by their conversation, Capt. Sapien emerged from the door leading to the superiors' offices. He looked very tired and unhealthy, his skin had a grayish tinge and his eyes sported deep dark circles. "Assault Squad to the briefing room in five minutes !– he ordered – We have a call!"  
Terhentar bounced to her feet, already excited. "Gotta go." she said to her friend, rushing towards the briefing room.  
It filled up in a few moments, the assault squad agents, some already in combat gear, some not, seating onto the dingy chairs with an adrenaline-ridden look.  
As usual ,Lt. Hellboy, aka Red, and his wife were in the front row. During the first few weeks, Terhentar had a lot of issues regarding Lt. Hellboy. He was an half-demon, and she was a demon-hunter, it stood to reason that she didn't trust him, but with time she had to revise her opinion. He was a friendly guy and a thoroughly good person, without the racial issues most of the human agents had. She was quite ashamed of her racist prejudices and vowed never to judge anyone based on their heritage again. Moreover, they discovered a common love for cats and spent some time together feeding strays in dingy alleys. It was fun.  
Lt. Hellboy was a competent fighter and cared for his underlings. She was honored to fight beside him.

Capt. Sapien entered the room, tearing her from her reverie. "We got a call from the dockside area. Demon on the loose. – he announced and the agents murmured. Not a good call. Somebody could remain injured. – The caller reports the presence of suspect humans as well, so be careful. The use of deadly force is authorized for this mission."  
Terhentar inwardly cheered. Deadly force against demons was her cup of tea. She caressed the handle of her axes lovingly and held her sacred symbol in her sweaty hand.  
"Anat, protect me and give me force." she prayed silently.  
"Departure time in ten minutes." announced Capt. Sapien.  
The agents got to their feet. Some rushed towards the lockers' room to collect their gear, while some headed directly to the garage. Terhi followed this last group, her gear already collected, twin axes and whip, over a bronze and murex-dyed leather armor, engraved with holy symbols and spells, a present from her coven when she was hired to the BPRD.

While she was on the stairs to the garage, her cell phone, an odious contraption, but necessary for her work, started ringing. "Agent Terhentar speaking." she identified herself.  
"Terhi? Terhi, love, it's me Aibhlinn." her cousin called. It had been a while since she last heard from her, but decidedly this was not the right moment.  
"Hi, Aibhlinn." she replied.  
"I have a question for you. Do you know any battle priestess called Quenthel or Danifae?" Aibhlinn asked.  
Terhentar mulled the question in her head for a moment. "No, I do not. Why do you ask?"  
"Why do I ask? – her cousin repeated – My parents found a nameless guy unconscious in an alley and he keeps calling for those two, so maybe you knew them and could tell us who this bloke is."  
"I am sorry, cousin, but I haven't heard about those people." she retorted, getting into the garage. She stopped, if she went any further the communication would be cut.  
"You do not? It didn't hurt trying, did it? – Aibhlinn mused – Could you do me a favour? Could you ask your colleagues if they know them?"  
"Sure, cousin. I'll send word around and call on your parents as soon as possible to check on the guy. – she agreed – Sorry about the haste but I'm departing for a mission, gotta go."  
"Yes, that would be great. Brilliant. – Aibhlinn said enthusiastically – Good luck with your mission. See you!"  
Terhentar heard the sound of the conversation being ended and replaced the phone into its holster, entering into the garage. The agents were already cramming themselves into the van. She climbed in as well and tried to find a seat.  
Her curiosity was piqued about the unconscious stranger, she thought, buckling her seat belt.  
After this mission she would make sure to pay a visit to her aunt and uncle.


	4. Hope?

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters except the OCs. All published characters belong to the respective owners. I do not make a £ from this.**

**Warnings: mentions of gruesome deaths and WOSQ spoilers.  
Do not expect me to keep up with this rhytm all the way. I have a fever and have to stay in bed, so I'll try to write as much as possible, but next updates may be erratical, since I am pursuing a PhD.**

**Thanks to OhShirleyUJest for the review and for putting me on alert.  
**

**Flame all you want. I am fireproof.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Jeggred felt like he was slowly going crazy. He did not know how many days had passed since he had awakened in the not-stone tunnel, he had no means of measuring the passing of the time, but it seemed like an eternity to him. He had found no sign that he was either in the Underdark or in the Demonweb Pits and was feeling increasingly sure that he was somewhere else, somewhere he was not supposed to be.  
So far, he had found no sign of people, except for a small shelter, which appeared to have been inhabited in the recent past. He made the shelter his refuge, the base for his explorations.  
He was reluctant to tap into his reserves of dried _rothe_ meat and tough bread, when there were rats to be had, so he left them for emergencies. Fortunately, the rats seemed to dwell everywhere and not just near the shitty river.  
His days were spent in searching for people, an outpost, a patrol, a merchant caravan, anything, but he found nothing. If his days were dull, his nights were full of nightmares. The final moments of the battle in the Burning Plains kept replaying themselves in his mind (_his aunt laughing, the pain from her spell, his body breaking in ways he had not imagined, the spiders scuttling mercilessly, pain, unbearable, endless suffering)_ causing him to wake up screaming and trembling, like the prisoners deep in the bowels of the Great Mound. He had never thought one day he would be reduced to cower like them. He was disgusted by himself, but found no way out. What had happened to him?  
He could not sleep soundly, but woke every now and then, every sound startling him, and his waking hours were an endless parade of empty moments. He felt like he was old and tired and useless.  
How he wished he had a mistress to guide him and coax him out of his weakened state or just to stop making him feel like he was the last living thing in a dead world. He just wanted somebody to speak to him, or at least acknowledge his silent presence, but would welcome a whipping if it rekindled his spirit.  
He tried to pray, but he felt like nobody was listening. He felt empty. The Goddess had forsaken him, perhaps disgusted by his weakness.

He was curled in a corner of his shelter, uselessly rocking backwards and forwards, when he heard voices echoing in the tunnels.  
Voices! This meant people! And this meant also a possibility of gaining knowledge of his whereabouts! Jeggred jumped to his feet and followed the trail of sound, walking as silently as possible. He didn't want to spook his quarry. The voices were stronger now, so the people should be nearer. He peeked around a corner and saw them. A bunch of humans, dressed in ridiculous orange garments and wearing equally orange helmets. They did not look like a patrol (how would they be able to hide in the darkness in those garish clothes?), they looked like a gang of workers. The tools looped through their belts were a sure clue. The humans were clustering around one of the machines in the wall, seemingly repairing them, all the while chattering away loudly, heedless of their safety. They behaved like the tunnels held no danger for them, they had no lookouts and no guards and didn't bother to keep quiet, but joked between themselves, relaxed. Of course, Jeggred did not understand a word of what they were saying, but he didn't know the common language of the surface.  
The labourers appeared to have finished their task, collected their tools and marched along the tunnel, still chattering, without sending scouts and without appointing a rear guard. As stupid as he was, even he knew that it was standard practice while traversing the tunnels. A bit baffled, Jeggred was nonetheless grateful for the lack of a rear guard, which simplified a lot his pursuit of the humans. He followed them at a certain distance, close enough not to lose them in the maze of tunnels but distant enough as to avoid detection. He didn't want to attack them yet, quite uncharacteristically, he admitted. He'd rather follow them to some form of civilization first and then decide what to do.  
The humans stopped around a ladder which led to a hole in the ceiling, a hole full of blinding white light and started climbing, again nobody looked out for threats. He knew what that white light was, even if he had seen it only a couple of times, it was sunlight, he thought, blinking the purplish afterimage away. The hole in the ceiling had to be a passage to the world above, he reasoned. Things had not gone as he hoped, he mused, he 'd rather have encountered some underground settlement, but beggars cannot be choosers, as they say. He needed to find people before he went mad and the surface world would have to suffice. He could always threaten someone into showing him the way to the nearest drow city… That would be fun, he thought, feeling more like himself.  
The careless humans had all climbed the ladder into the light and were withdrawing it. It was no big problem, he could always levitate towards it. The humans closed the hole with a metallic sound. This could prove quite more problematic, he mused. He waited for a few moments to make sure no humans were left in the area and advanced cautiously towards the hole. He levitated towards it and tried to lift the cover, which looked like a metallic disc. It budged without problems, he noticed. Fortunately, it was not magically or mechanically rigged, he thought belatedly, feeling a bit sheepish.  
He was really too stupid for his own good. He knew it, but he would go ballistic anyway if any male dared to point it out. The late Pharaum Mizzrym was especially obnoxious.

Well, he thought, what's done is done. Thank the Goddess that there are no traps and the foppish mage is not here to goad and insult. Briefly, he wondered if the mage had found himself in a strange place as well, since they both had… died, yes, they had died… in the same way.  
He shook his head, trying to think about something else before the memories assaulted him again.  
After dark, he decided, he would go outside, to explore the surface world.  
The Goddess willing, he would find an answer to his questions.


	5. A Fateful Encounter

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters except the OCs. All published characters belong to the respective owners. I do not make a £ from this.**

**Warnings: graphic descriptions of bloody violence and abusive language. You have been warned.  
Possible spoilers for WOSQ as well, maybe.**

**As hoped, another chapter for you. Five in a day, whoa!  
Next chapter, next weekend, hopefully.  
**

**Flame all you want. I am fireproof.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

The air at the docks was cool and smelled of water and brine. Terhentar glanced around, taking in all of her surroundings. The assault squad had split up to cove a bigger area around the spot of the first sighting. While they travelled from the HQ to the site, three more sightings and an officer down (a member of the NYPD) had been reported.  
She had teamed up with Morrisson, an human agent and a competent marksman, and Aethann, a red-haired Scottish sidhe. They were advancing into a maze of dingy alleys behind the warehouses near the river, keeping constant radio contact with the other teams and the HQ. "No show here." announced Lt. Hellboy in the radio.  
"Nor here." confirmed Lt. Sherman, who was leading another team.  
"All clear here as well." replied Morrisson, the official leader of the team, due to his seniority in the BPRD.  
"Okay, agents. Move east towards the main docks." instructed Capt. Sapien from the HQ. Even if he was a competent operative agent, lately he preferred directing the operations from afar. Hellboy was more than happy to let him. In fact, pretty much everybody, except the few assholes who lurked in every workplace, was worried about him and didn't want him to lose it on the battlefield.  
"Roger, Captain. We're moving towards the repair docks." Morrison replied.  
"Let's go, boys and girls." he added off radio, heading towards their destination.

They walked in silence, Terhentar taking point, gun in one hand and axe in the other, and Morrisson covering the rear with his rifle.  
"Did you hear that?" said Aethann after a while.  
"What?" asked Morrisson. A second later, a dark shaped flew down from a nearby building and landed on him and a heartbeat later he was lying sprawled on the concrete, blood pooling under him. The demon, a hulking shape covered in greenish slime, with four goat-like eyes bulging from a misshapen head full of fangs, towered over his fallen body.  
"Officer down, officer down!" shouted Aethann into the radio, shooting at the demon with his small-caliber gun, the bullets ricocheted ineffectually on his thick scaled skin . Terhi holstered her gun and un-looped the second axe from her belt, charging the demon with a bloodcurdling war cry. The demon tried to parry the blades with his arm, confiding in the thickness of his skin, but her axes were enchanted against demonkind and exploded with reddish light upon landing the blows. Good-sized chunks of demon flesh fell on the ground and the creature bellowed with a dissonant voice and turned tail to escape.  
"Stay with him. I'll pursue the demon." she shouted to Aethann, who was kneeling near Morrisson, checking his vital signs. She didn't wait for his answer and run hot on the heels of the demon. She looped one of her axes again and picked up the radio. "Agent Terhentar speaking. We had contact with the demon. Agent Morrisson is down. Aethann is with him, I am giving pursuit." she said panting, without breaking the run.  
"Negative, agent Terhentar. Wait for reinforcements." was the answer from the HQ.  
"Negative, HQ. – she replied – The demon will escape." she closed the conversation and replaced the radio in the belt loop.  
The ground was dotted with greenish goo, the demon's blood. She was still hot on its tracks.  
She turned a sharp corner and found herself facing the demon, claws bared and swiping towards her head. Terhentar dived for the floor, feeling the air move above her, and rolled, coming to her feet behind the demon, she turned and swiped her axe low, trying to hamstring the creature. For being so hulking, it was quite light on its feet and managed to avoid the blow. Terhentar did not desist and followed up with a reverse blow to the torso. The demon tried again to parry with an arm and again howled in pain, its arm severed neatly. "Die, hellish abomination!" she shouted, insisting, attacking the demon with a flurry of blows. The demon tried to escape again, retreating towards an alley. Terhentar had no intention to relent and kept pursuing it. The alley was dark and narrow, the demon was running ahead of her. Terhentar hefted her axe, ready to throw it.  
"Die, stupid bitch!" someone shouted and something hit her hard on the back of the head, sending her sprawling to the floor. Her vision clouded and she lost one axe. She soon managed to come round and pick herself from the floor and found herself surrounded by hooded persons. "You dared to strike the Son of The Infinite Abyss, so you will die for your presumption." announced one of them in a sonorous voice.  
Cultists, just what she needed at the moment, she thought dizzily. Her vision was still swimming but she firmed her hold on the remaining axe and faced them squarely. How could some people be so idiot as to worship demons? It was beyond her comprehension.  
"Fuck off." she growled, quickly un-holstering the gun and firing almost point blank into one of the cultists, spraying bits of him around. Served them well for wanting to deliver speeches before they attacked.  
At this point, the cultists attacked her all at once with daggers and poles. Just wonderful. She snarled and brought her axe round into a large sweeping motion, fending off some of the cultists. She kicked backwards, trying to avoid being hit from behind. Her head throbbed, making her nauseous.  
One of the cultists managed to hit her with a freaking pole, knocking the breath out of her lungs. She brought her pistol round and shot in the crowd. Her vision was swimming too much for her aim to be true, but they were packed close and her shot hit something, judging by the pained cry.  
They were too many, she panted, too freaking many. Damn cultists!  
She shot again and again, until her pistol clicked dry. With a wordless battle cry she threw herself at the cultists hacking left and right. She would not yield. If she had to go, she will go down fighting.

The sun had gone down at least and no more light filtered around the cover of the hole. It was time for him to explore the surface.  
Slowly, Jeggred levitated towards the hole, lifting the heavy cover and letting it fall to the ground beside the hole. The air was cool and smelled like a river. There was more water nearby.  
He was in an alley, quite dirty and run-down, flanked by tall, dilapidated buildings. Rats were squeaking amidst heaps of rubbish, but there was no one in sight. At one extremity, the alley ded-ended into a wall.  
Cautiously, he walked towards the other end of the alley, peering around the corner. No one in sight there either. The area was eerily silent, unnervingly so. Stepping silently, he walked in the alley, hugging one of the walls, wary of every noise, but the only thing he could hear were rats.  
Suddenly, he heard a bloodcurdling battle cry and the sound of explosions not far away. Without thinking overmuch about it, that is without thinking at all, he ran towards the source of the noise. A fight. If he managed to get someone indebted with him by helping them, he could find a way to get information and assistance in getting home.

Running at full speed, he heard other explosions and another scream of rage, much closer. He turned a corner and happened onto the battlefield. It took just a glance to get hold of the situation. A group of hooded figures was crowding over a… over a _jalil_? Yes, that was it. A _jalil_ with short spiky hair and a weird purplish armor, but undoubtedly a drow female and a priestess from the look of things. Blood seeped through her hair. She staggered and fell and the hooded persons closed in on her, ready to finish her off.  
How dare they harm her?  
Jeggred felt the fury rise and embraced it, hurling himself into the fight with a roar, claws bared, his vision clouded with a red haze. The hooded idiots did not know what fell on them. He felled them mercilessly, not feeling the sting of their flimsy knives. He ripped limbs and clawed bodies apart, losing himself in the heat of battle.  
At least this had not changed. He was still himself in this at least.  
He rejoiced in their terrified screams, their pitiful defenses, the pathetic smell of urine and feces escaping from their bodies in fear and in the last convulsions of death and when there were no more victims still alive and moving, his vision started to clear, the adrenaline high receding. He had sustained some minor injuries, it was quite inevitable, the enemies were too many, but nothing serious, a handful of barely stinging cuts.  
The enemy, however, was thoroughly routed: the ground was littered with body parts and pools of blood painted a dark shiny red the dark grey ground.  
Jeggred smiled a toothy grin, feeling better than he had since awakening in the tunnel.  
The hooded-person problem solved, he turned his attention towards the _jalil_, hoping that she was still alive. He stepped towards her and kneeled on the ground next to her, examining her. She was freakishly tall, that she was, almost half again as tall as his mother. He had never seen a drow that tall, not even the Armgo warriors, which were famed for their physical superiority. It was strange, but beside the point.  
She was still breathing, which was much more important, but still unconscious. The hooded persons must have knocked her hard on the head, blasphemer bastards.  
Hesitatingly, since he knew what to expect when attempting physical contact with a _jalil_ who didn't want to be touched and didn't care to experience it again, he extended one of his smaller arms, marginally less bloody, and touched her shoulder. "Mistress? – he called hoarsely, his voice raspy from the lack of use – Wake up, mistress." She didn't react.  
Jeggred sighed and shook her gently by the shoulder. Her only response was a moan. She was quite far gone, he mused, and would need time to come round. He quickly scanned the surroundings. They didn't look like a safe place to him. Maybe he'd better bring her to his underground refuge, he pondered. Yes, much better. He wondered what a _jalil_ was doing on the surface, maybe she was separated from a patrol during a raid? The only way to know would be asking her after she awakened.

He got closer to her and was bracing himself to lift her from the ground when he smelled rot and brimstone.  
"Get off the bitch, filthy hybrid. – called a discordant voice behind him, talking in the demon language – She is my prey".  
Jeggred turned and got back on his feet, really annoyed, his hackles rising again. He hated demons with all his being and could not stand being called hybrid. The demon was a little bigger than him, with four bulging eyes and lots of fangs but looked decidedly worse for the wear: part of one arm was missing (ouch, he thought distantly) and he sported several other wounds. "No, she is not." he retorted in the same language.  
"Then I'll make you suffer as well, son of an unworthy whore." the demon said, sealing his fate. Insulting him was almost okay, everybody did that sooner or later, but insulting his mother was unforgivable.  
Jeggred charged headlong, full of rage, ready to gut the idiot demon. The creature jumped back, avoiding being eviscerated and spit a fireball at him, striking true. It laughed seeing Jeggred fall, thrown off his feet by the impact, but its laughter was cut short when he got to his feet again, fur smoking a bit, but barely injured. "Do it all you want .– Jeggerd said, grinning cruelly – I'm fireproof." The creature seemed to be taken aback and Jeggred profited from the opening, hurling himself forward at full speed, one combat arm flying towards its head, the other towards its belly. The demon parried the lower blow with the remaining arm and used its oversized mouth to catch the other wrist. Its fangs cut through skin and ground against bone, but Jeggered grinned nonetheless. "I have two more arms, you idiot." he pointed out, using his smaller hands to punch the demon' s lower ribs into splinters. The demon coughed blood, internal organs damaged, and bent upon itself, staggering. Jeggerd kicked it mercilessly, grinning , and clawed at its throat while it was off balance.  
Thick green blood sprayed in the air, and the creature fell to the ground convulsing and gurgling, pathetically trying to stench the blood from the wound and to breathe through the massive hole in its trachea.  
"Worthless refuse of the Abyss." Jeggred taunted, spitting upon the fallen enemy.

It was definitely not safe aboveground, he decided.  
"Do not worry, mistress, I'm going to keep you safe." he said, gently lifting the still-unconscious _ jalil_ from the battlefield, holding her against his chest with his bigger arms. His wrist hurt a bit, but he had survived worse wounds. At least this time his hand was still attached, he laughed silently, walking back to his provisional home.  
The _jalil _ stirred a bit, moaning. She'd better wake soon, because he had lots of questions to ask her.


	6. Voices on the radio

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters except the OCs. All published characters belong to the respective owners. I do not make a £ from this.**

**Warnings: graphic descriptions of bloody violence. You have been warned.**

As promised, another chapter for you.  
Next chapter maybe next weekend, if my parents, coming to visit, leave me enough time.  


**Flame all you want. I am fireproof.**

**Enjoy!**

**

* * *

**

The HQ command console was stuffy and hot, air fouled by the smell of sweat and almost-burned bad coffee. Abe Sapien tried to push the smell and the feelings of frustration and anxiety tinting the air in the background, concentrating hard on the readout of the computer monitors, displaying the exact position of the agents trough GPS tracking and controlling the radios.  
The agents were going through the programmed report, giving their position and observations in progressive order.  
"No show here." announced Hellboy. From the GPS position, his squad was the southernmost.  
"Nor here." confirmed Liz.  
One by one, all the squad leaders gave their reports. Abe took a moment to examine the situation, ordering the communications officer to toggle the visualization of the last sighting sites. The computer screen came alive with little red squares, signaling the places where the demon was sighted, and purple triangles, where suspicious-looking humans had been reported.  
He compared the information with the positions of the agents on the field.  
"Red, - he called through the radio – move west towards the pleasance port"  
"All right, Blue." answered his friend.  
"Liz, you converge towards squad number four, going towards the cargo area." he instructed.  
"Sure thing." Liz replied.  
He nodded, even if the only ones who could see him were the dispatch and communications officers. "Agent Yadav, - he called, tapping into the radio of the leader of the fourth squad – Lt. Sherman is converging towards you. Keep securing the area."  
"Roger, Captain." the agent responded.  
Abe was moving his troops as to corral the demon, containing him in a smaller area of the docksides, which could easily become a killing ground. If all went well, there would be no more civilian casualties, also because he had ordered to evacuate the area. Except for the agents, as far as he knew, the only persons in the dockside area were the suspects and the demon.

"Officer down! Officer down!" a voice exploded in the radio. The channel corresponding to the Scottish sidhe agent Aethann blinked with green light on the monitor.  
"Agent Aethann, what happened?" Abe shouted, grabbing the microphone.  
"The demon ambushed us. Morrison is wounded. We need support!" the sidhe reported, panting from the adrenaline rush.  
"Hold on, agent, hold on." Abe instructed, opening all channels on the radio.  
"All agents converge towards the back of the repair dock. The demon has been contacted. Officer down." he barked, then toggled to the radio of Zabiba, the chief healer, still positioned out of the danger zone with the healers team.  
"Agent Zabiba! – he called – We have a wounded officer in the repair dock area. I'll send you the coordinates."  
"We'll be there in no time, Captain." the djinn replied.  
"Be careful, – he admonished – the operative agents are still fighting in the area."  
Zabiba laughed. "I worked with the International Red Crescent in Afghanistan, Captain. I know my business."  
Abe let go, he knew that. They had hired the djinn exactly for that reason.  
The radio exploded again to life. "Agent Terhentar speaking. We had contact with the demon. Agent Morrisson is down. Aethann is with him, I am giving pursuit." the du sidhe priestess, one of the newer hires, was running while she talked. Abe could hear her booted footsteps and her labored breath.  
"Negative, agent Terhentar. Wait for reinforcements." he ordered. What was the woman thinking? Apparently, she had experience of combat against demons, but that was not a good reason to break from procedure and risk her life.  
"Negative, HQ. – she replied with finality – The demon will escape." She closed the communication, without waiting for a reply.  
"Dammit!" cursed Abe, thumping his fist on the table. He urged the communication officer to toggle to Red's radio. "Red, the crazy priestess is giving chase to the demon on her own. – he alerted, feeling a headache starting to grow between her eyes – Quit whatever you are doing and help her."  
"Crap! – Hellboy said – Where to?"  
"The repair docks." Abe answered.  
"Running." Hellboy replied, cutting the conversation.  
Abe tried again to contact Terhentar. "Agent Terhentar! Agent Terhentar! – he called into the radio – Reinforcements are arriving. Do not do anything stupid!". The radio remained mute except for static.  
Abe jumped to his feet. He didn't want any of his underlings to die.  
"Cohen, the command console is yours, - he announced to the senior communication officer, grabbing a radio and a portable GPS display – I am going to the advance field command to direct operations. Keep me informed." He ran for it, leaving a flabbergasted agent Cohen no way to reply.

Shaking his head pensively, Cohen turned back to his work, examining the GPS screen. The foolhardy agent, identified by a bright violet spot, was running like mad, covering the ground at a very fast pace and the rest of the troops were still quite distant. "Capt. Sapien, - he called into the appropriate radio channel – agent Terhentar is moving towards the back of the warehouse complex."  
"Roger, agent Cohen." replied the Captain.  
"Move to the warehouse complex, everyone!" the captain yelled in the radio, opening all channels.  
Cohen watched the troop deployment unfold from the screen. With a corner of his eye he saw the healers, identified as white spots, reach the position of the fallen agent Morrisson. He hoped they were in time to save him.  
Suddenly, the radio exploded to life. Cohen heard a loud noise as if something had smacked the ground quite hard, then a voice he didn't recognize, a resonant male voice, intoned "You dared to strike the Son of The Infinite Abyss, so you will die for your presumption." The line was weak and full of statics but after a few moments he recognized agent Terhentar's voice.  
"Fuck off." she said, then the loud sound of gunfire filled the ether. Sounds of battle echoed in the HQ, suddenly silent except for the radio. A quite large number of people grunted and breathed heavily in effort, muffled smacks and thuds echoed, then gunfire again, steady and continuous, until the gun clicked dry.  
Agent Cohen picked up the microphone with trembling hands. "Make haste Captain! Agent Terhentar is fighting against a bunch of people!" he yelled, but not quite loudly as to muffle the desperate, savage battle cry coming from the agent's radio.

When the agents arrived on the battlefield, the battle had already finished for good. The alley was littered with body parts and pools of blood, belonging to a quite large group of humans, garbed in ceremonial raiment. "Cultists." mumbled Hellboy, examining the area. Abe, who had run as a marathoner from the command outpost, was leaning on a nearby wall, trying to catch his breath and not to hurl.  
The scene was not horrible as the museum after the tooth fairy attack, but was quite bad. A couple of the newer agents had already spewed their dinners, thankfully away from the main scene.  
Agent Tehrentar was missing, but her radio was lying on the ground, half-broken and buzzing, probably wrecked during the fight and on since then.  
Increasingly panicked reports had come from the HQ station. The agents had clearly been able to hear all the fight, without being able to do a single thing to help their colleague.  
According to them, there was a third, or fourth, if you counted the demon, party in action during the fight and this was quite apparent from the crime scene.  
Some of the cultists had been obviously dispatched by Terhentar and displayed axe cuts and bullet wounds, but some had been ripped apart by huge claws and brute force, in a very very messy way. It could have been the demon, such creatures are notoriously unstable and have no care for allies, but then there was the fact that it was lying nearby in a pool of its own body fluids. Its right arm had been severed neatly by a blade, Hellboy was betting on the du sidhe's axe, but its thorax had been deformed by an heavy impact and its throat had been torn out by the same huge claws which had dispatched the cultists. From the shape of the wounds, Hellboy could tell that the third attacker, whatever it was, possessed hands, quite large by the way, and not paws.

Abe had finally left the wall, and was walking slowly among the carnage, eyes closed and hands ungloved, feeling the memories of the place.  
_Shining hope and determination, blind faith. We are the Chosen, we will be heralds of a brighter future. We will have power, strength, everything. We are the Chosen of the Abyss. E cannot leave the demon-hunter live. Strength in numbers. She is alone. She is wounded. She will fall. Glory to the Abyss. _ These are the cultist's memories, thought Abe, and shifted his psychic attention to another thread of feeling.  
_Flicker.  
Angers, pain, self-deprecation. A trap. Falling neatly into it as an idiot. Too many, too damn many.  
Anat, give me strength.  
They came from everywhere. Desperation. I will not go down unavenged. Rage. I will not go down alone.  
_The mental image of Terhentar was that of a cornered animal, a lioness, surrounded by bloodhounds, with no escape left, only rage.  
Focusing on the rage, Abe got another thread of thought, even less coherent than the others, but it hit him with the force of a train. If the other thoughts were susurrations, this was a scream.  
_A glimpse of hope, of home. Falling, bloody.  
Rage, unspeakable rage, the smell of blood, human blood, the screams, the whimpers, the feeling of flesh rending and tearing, the taste of blood So beautiful, divine ecstasy. Movement, no thought, instinct. A turmoil of emotions, rage, relief, worry , hope and joy.  
_Abe gasped, tearing himself from the thread of memories with an effort. Panting, he leaned against the wall again, fighting a bout of nausea. The crime scene was terrible enough in itself, he had not wanted to know that who made this brutal mess was having a great time of it.  
This emotions, so raw and primitive, did not belong to the dead demon, Abe was quite sure. True demons are emotionally stunted, perennially mode-locked into and hungry-and-angry state, with little fluctuations. Nothing like this emotional onslaught.  
Abe picked up the radio and called the HQ. "Cohen, did you say that there was an unidentified voice on the radio?" he asked.  
"Yes, sir." His voice was quite shaky, the whole experience of hearing a slaughter taking place had taken its toll.  
"Send me the audio file of the GPS device, if you please." Abe ordered.  
"Yes, sir. I'll send it at once." replied agent Cohen, sounding quite winded.  
After a few moments, the device blinked to life with an electronic squeak. Abe fiddled with it for a while, trying to access the file, then satisfied, called to Hellboy and the rest of the agents.  
"Agent Cohen from the HQ has managed to record the fight on an audio file. – he explained to the agents – He says that there are four voices on the track, one belonging to agent Terhentar, one to a human male, probably one of the cultists, and two unknown, speaking in a strange language. I am going to play the file. Please pay attention and if any of you recognizes the language or any other clues, please tell me."  
There was a general noise of assenting, sprinkled with nods and Abe played the file on the loudspeakers. He watched as the faces in the crowd became increasingly worried as the sounds of the fight progressed, some cringed at hearing the loud gunfire blasts and Terhentar's rage scream, knowing that she was in dire straits, fighting against overwhelming odds, then cringed again when a savage roar blasted from the loudspeakers.  
"This is our third attacker." explained Abe. The roar was followed by the sickening noises of a carnage taking place then a voice, rough and deep, spoke softly in a weird language.  
Nobody spoke, unwilling to miss any clue.  
Another voice intervened, dissonant and shrill, and clearly inhuman.  
"It is demon language." said Hellboy, with crystal clear certainty. Abe nodded and replayed that bit.  
"What did it say?" he asked.  
"Called Terhentar and the unknown bad names." shrugged Hellboy.  
Abe sighed and played further on. This time it was the voice of the unknown, clipped and angry.  
"It is demon language again!" exclaimed Hellboy, flabbergasted.  
"You sure?" Abe asked.  
"Yep. - Hellboy replied - And it is not a language many know, mainly the demons themselves and some odd scholars."  
"It didn't sound like a scholar to me." Liz chimed in.  
"Half-demon." Hellboy said, sighing. "The unknown is an half-demon, I think. The demon called him hybrid."  
Abe nodded and played further on. "Yep, definitely half-demon." Hellboy said after another exchange of rude words referred to the hybrid's mother and an explosion.  
Sounds of battle echoed in the alley again and ended in a horrible gurgling and sucking sound. The half-demon issued a final defiance and moved nearer the radio, with an odd clicking sound, which made everyone wonder.  
He spoke again, as softly and gently as he could, probably, but still loud enough to be heard on the radio and this time Hellboy did not recognize the language.  
"He switched language here." he said.  
"It sounds du sidhe dialect." Aethann intervened, puzzled.  
"What did he say?" Abe asked, equally puzzled.  
Aethann frowned. "I do not understand it very well." he explained, apologetically.  
"I'll play it again, agent Aethann. – Abe announced – Please, concentrate and try to tell us what it means, it does not need to be word-by-word, just the meaning."  
Aethann nodded, it features going sharper with concentration. He closed his eyes. "Safe. He wants to keep her safe." he said finally and gravely.

A sense of unease spread among the agents.  
Cohen's last report had been delivered in tears, agent Terhentar was moving towards one of the warehouses, then she disappeared from the monitor completely. The half-demon must have kidnapped her and brought her somewhere he thought safe. But where? Her GPS transmitter was not found and she had disappeared as if in thin air, but she must be alive, even if wounded and rescuing her was the new top priority.  
"OK, ladies and gentlemen, – Abe said – we are going to do a very thorough search of the area, starting from where the agent's GPS signal was last received and spreading outwards in widening circles. She is still alive and we'll find her."  
The agents cheered and set out to work. Abe watched them go, and hoped, nay prayed, they would find her in time.


	7. The Strangest Stranger

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters except the OCs. All published characters belong to the respective owners. I do not make a £ from this.**

**Warning: heavy spoilers from WOSQ, laanguage and mentioned gruesome deaths.  
**

**Flame all you want. I am fireproof.**

******Enjoy!**

* * *

Terhentar awoke to the sound of drops of water hitting the ground rhythmically.  
She was sore all over, but, most of all, her head hurt.  
She was lying on something quite soft but musty-smelling and she felt warm, wrapped into some sort of blanket. This was more than she expected, since her last memory was of fighting and falling against a bunch of rabid cultists.  
Had her colleagues rescued her? She kind of doubted it.  
There was someone near her, she could hear their steady breath if she strained. The smell of the place was off, the sound of it was off as well, but she was still alive and unharmed. Where was she?  
There was only one way to be sure, she pondered, and this was opening her eyes. Slowly, trying not to alarm the person near her, whoever he or she was, she rolled over and opened her eyes.  
Wherever she was, it was almost pitch black, not that it made much difference for a du sidhe... Hers was a nocturnal and subterranean race, used to move in darkness as if it was plain daylight. However, her vision swam and she fought a bout of nausea. The damned cultists must have knocked her hard.  
She brought the room back into focus with an effort. It was small and bleak, with an upturned crate as sole piece of furniture, except for the pallet on which she was lying.  
The other person in the room was sitting against the wall, muscular arms wrapped around his knees, and eyed her with curiosity. Terhentar's gaze lingered on him a while, then dropped, but she managed to contain a startled gesture and kept her face as straight as possible. "I must have been knocked harder than I thought." she mused, blinking her eyes repeatedly, as if to clear her vision. She opened her eyes again and looked once more at her present company. Astonishingly, she had seen correctly the first time.  
The person sitting next to her was freakishly tall, a real giant, black-skinned and white haired as she was. His ears were pointed, like those of a du sidhe, but his face was a strange mixture between sidhe angular beauty and animalistic features, his hands huge and clawed, bloody to the elbow, as if he was wearing a pair of opera-length shiny red gloves, and his legs were cat-like and a bit furry. She had never seen anything like him, and was quite uneasy about his intentions. He looked quite capable to rip her limb to limb, if he only whished. Strangely enough, her remaining axe was placed next to her and all her knives were still in their places. Did the weirdo feel so confident that he could overpower her as to let her keep her weapons? Well, she thought, if he only tried anything, he would be in for a nasty surprise.  
The weirdo smiled, flashing an impressive set of fangs, and his face lit up with… excitement perhaps? Terhentar could not tell for sure. She was not much used to reading emotions on non-exactly-human-like features. What did he want from her? Why was he so happy to see her awake?  
He spoke in a rumbling, deep and rough voice, trying for quiet and failing quite miserably. "I am happy you are awake, mistress." he said, smiling, and Terhentar was surprised that she could understand what he was saying. He was using an old du sidhe dialect, a bit different from the modern version, but not so much that she could not understand it. "I was starting to worry that you would not wake anymore…" he continued and Terhentar thought she discerned real concern in his voice. Why this stranger should concern himself with her personal safety was beyond her comprehension.  
She also noted that he was using the forms of the old dialect used to address someone's betters, or even nobility, and now that she thought of it, all his demeanor seemed deferent.  
Head spinning, both from the blow and the surprise, Terhentar asked the cliché questions of such situations in a wavering voice. "Where am I? Who are you?"  
The stranger responded promptly. "We are in the lower levels of the tunnels, mistress. You were unconscious and I carried you here to keep you safe. There was a fight on the surface." he explained, calmly, as if it was completely commonplace to carry unconscious women around underground. He spoke looking fixedly at the floor, nearly-purple eyes smoldering, avoiding her inquisitive gaze in a non-threatening but terribly annoying way.  
"I see." she said, lying. She did not understand a thing. "Well, thanks."  
"It was nothing, mistress. – he said, shrugging his massive shoulders, still not looking at her – I live to serve."  
Terhentar quirked an eyebrow in perplexity. It was a very old-fashioned concept even among fey people nowadays. "Who are you?" she repeated, since 'what are you?' seemed to her too rude a question. After all, the guy had saved her life, or so it seemed. She could cut him some slack, couldn't she? At least for a little while and without letting her attention waver.  
His gaze lifted from the floor for a second and met hers, then he averted it suddenly as if burned and fixed it on the floor again, looking guilty. "I am Jeggred Baenre, son of Triel Baenre, Matriarch of the First House of Menzoberranzan." he proclaimed, somewhat wistful at the mention of mother and homeland.  
"Menzo-what?" she asked, uncomprehending. She had never heard of such a place in her life.  
"Menzoberranzan, the City of Spiders. – he repeated, glancing at her again as if to gauge her reaction. Seeing that she had none, he sighed, shoulders sagging – I guess you never heard of it. I must be very far from home…" He sounded lost and confused and, even if he was a freakish thing, she felt a twinge of pity for him.  
"We are in New York, New Jersey, at the moment." She said gently. He had no reaction whatsoever at the name, save shrugging and sighing. "How did you get here in the first place?" she asked.  
He lifted his head again and stole another glance at her. This game of avoidance was starting to irritate her.  
"I do not know. – he answered, still sad and confused – I should not be here, I should be… elsewhere, in the realm of the Goddess."  
Terhentar's eyes brightened. He served one of the incarnations of Goddess as well, this was good news. She was betting he served the Mor Rhioghan, as most males did, but it was of little importance. He was one of the faithful. She could use this fact as leverage to get out of this situation, as soon as she understood properly in which sort of situation she had unwittingly gotten into.  
"I serve the Goddess as well, -she said, gently, as if speaking to a spooked animal or a little child. Something had broken something inside this guy and he was not healed yet – you can tell me what happened. I can help you."  
"I think I died. – he blurted out – I died serving the Goddess with all I had, and she spat me out of her blessed realm, here in blasted Nieuyourck." He was shaking, from rage or grief, she could not tell. His gaze was empty and fixed on the wall beside her, for a change, and he looked every inch like he was reliving some terrible nightmare.  
Terhentar did not know what to say and kept her silence, but tightened her grip on the axe.  
"I have given her everything, fought for her, suffered for her and was left here alone in the company of rats. What have I done wrong, mistress? I tried so hard, but I'm just a stupid half-breed. Maybe it was not enough…" he sounded on the verge of tears and more than serving the Goddess, it seemed as if he had tried to play knight in shining armor to a woman who didn't want him to. One of those people entirely devoted to their deity, bordering on hopeless romantic feelings, she mused.  
"Maybe she has not sent you away because she did not think you worthy.– Terhentar said, trying to calm him down. She feared that if he lost it, he would become violent – Maybe she sent you here on purpose, because you could serve her again, better than any other, did you think about it?" Terhentar had known of people saved from some horrible fate from the deities, in order to perform some outstanding service. It could be the case, even if it involved also long-distance transport of the victim. Or maybe he was just nutty as squirrel poop. Both cases were equally probable in Terhentar's opinion.  
His face lightened for an instant, then saddened again. "Of course not, mistress. I am just an ignorant male. How could I discern the designs of the Goddess? I have lost so much time moping and being weak… The Goddess must think I am worthless, now." he said, regretfully.  
Terhentar shook her head andtried to reassure him. "I think she will understand what you've been through and be indulgent with you. I do not think it was a pleasure cruise, am I right?"  
Jeggred shivered at the thought, eyes a bit wide. "No, it was not…" he replied, gloomily, shaking his head.  
Terhentar fell silent again and saw his eyes go blank again, as if gazing on something else, something so horrible and painful that it was unspeakable.  
"Why did you bring me here, Jeggred?" she asked, trying to distract him from his reminiscence.  
With a visible effort, the weird guy tore himself from the whirlpool of bad memories. "It was not safe, aboveground. There was a demon and some hooded idiots. – he scoffed – Besides, the sun would have risen by now, if I'm any judge." He added the last bit in a significant tone. Was he one of those sidhe who were sensible to sunlight due to always living underground? It was probable.  
"What happened to the cultists and the demon?" she enquired.  
"All dead, mistress. I killed them all. You do not need to worry about them." He explained.  
Terhentar's eyes widened in surprise. This guy had taken on all those cultists and the demon alone. He didn't look worse for the wear, but it was hard to tell, there was simply too much blood on him.  
"Are you hurt?" she asked, a bit worried. If the guy was going to die on her, she wanted to know right away. She might have a hell of a time trying to find the way out on her own though.  
The weirdo shook his head. "Just some cuts and a nasty bite. I'm fit for combat, mistress."  
Terhentar arched an eyebrow skeptically at the phrasing. "I'm not your mistress. My name is Terhentar." she retorted. Jeggred shrugged his massive shoulders.  
"As you command." he acquiesced, pointedly omitting the title but making his subservience clear nonetheless.  
Terhentar sighed and, sensing somehow that he would not willingly cause her harm, tried to get to her feet, only to collapse on the blankets, head spinning and pounding madly. Her vision went blank for a while and when she managed to focus again between half-closed eyelids, Jeggred was kneeling beside her, holding a vial to her lips and keeping her head up to drink.  
"Drink this, mistress." he whispered roughly. She didn't move nor did reply and he probably assumed that she was unconscious again.  
"Do not die! – he whispered again, completing the sentence with some horrible curse in a language she did not understand – You cannot leave me alone! You cannot! Please, please!" He sounded very alarmed, almost afraid.  
Even through the pain and the haze in her head, Terhentar did not like how near the guy was to her, near enough that she could notice that his skin was unnaturally hot and that he stank. Holy crap, he stank a lot! But that was beside the point, she didn't want any stranger so near her! She tried to shove him away and to reply that she wasn't going to die, but her arms were weak like jelly and her words came slurred. She started to worry about her conditions. She might have been knocked out harder than anticipated.  
"Thanks the Goddess!" the weirdo sighed nonetheless and forced some vile sludge down her throat.  
Terhentar gasped and spluttered, it was beyond foul, but somehow her forces returned enough to enable her to punch him in the face with all she had. Very bad move. Her fist connected but it felt like punching a wall. Her hand hurt and throbbed now, but she felt way better, head clear and painless, strong enough to scramble to her feet, axe in hand. The guy must have fed her a strong potion, she realized.  
He was still kneeling on the floor, a small trickle of blood issuing from a split lip he didn't have before, looking up (not much however) at her with puzzlement. She locked stares with him, clenching her hand on the handle of her axe, ready to attack.  
"What sort of game are you playing with me? – she yelled, feeling angry at him for being weird and disturbingly subservient – What the fuck do you want from me, weirdo? You do not know me, never met me, yet you save me? What for?"  
He averted his gaze again and bowed down, in a clearly submissive gesture. This angered Terhi even more. "Stop acting all submissive on me, man! I'm not your mistress! Speak up, what do you want from me?" she yelled.  
Deliberately slow, he raised his head again and his nearly-purple gaze met hers, not puzzled anymore but full of loneliness, need and unease and anger, at himself, for feeling that loneliness and need, and at her, for rejecting him. He rose to his feet and Terhentar admitted to feeling a certain degree of fear. She was six foot six, but the guy towered over her, at least a foot taller and so physically imposing that she had to restrain the impulse of backing away. She stood her ground and craned her neck to keep her gaze locked with his.  
"What I want from you? – he said, angry – I…" he paused. "I do not know!" he yelled, punching the concrete wall so hard that he left an indentation. Terhi could barely refrain from jumping.  
"I want you to tell me want you want. I want you to take control. Why don't you understand? This is how it should be!" he finished, panting, looking like he was just a step away from violence.  
Terhi shook her head and sighed. "You are crazy. – she stated calmly – You need an owner?"  
"Yes… Yes, I do." he replied in a lower voice and from the look in his eyes she understood that it was the truth, that he needed to be ordered around, that he felt safer like that, and that now, away from home, alone and plagued by painful memories, he needed it more than ever.  
"I do not know if I can be your owner." she sighed, relaxing the grip on her axe. His shoulders slumped a bit. "You are the only other member of my race I have met since arriving here." he said, sounding almost defeated and she winced inwardly at being included in the same race as the weirdo. She had noticed something strange before, somewhat distantly, but now that he was upright it was clear that he had two extra arms, a bit smaller and a bit less clawed than the main pair. "Holy shit!" she thought. He must have noticed that she had noticed. "I'm half-demon." he said, apologetically as if he was disgusted by the thought. "I hate demons…" he spat venomously.  
"Problems with daddy dearest?" she goaded.  
He actually grinned, which was disturbing. "I was pleased to watch him die painfully." he retorted "But that is beside the point. You are a _jalil_ and a priestess, you are the only thing remotely like home around. Please… - he whispered - Allow me to serve." he said, but unspoken words hung in the air "Allow me to belong, keep me safe."  
Terhentar sighed. "I will try. I will do my best and I will help you go home" she said. His smile was almost childish in its unadulterated happiness and it pained Terhentar a bit. How can anyone be content to be a servant, to be owned, she could not understand  
He threw himself at her feet, all but kowtowing to her and she felt a flush of embarrassment creep on her cheeks. "Stop it, Jeggered!" she ordered and he promptly rose to a crouching position.  
"You will not regret your decision, mistress. I will serve you well." he said, a strange expression passing on his face.  
Terhentar merely acquiesced, a bit overwhelmed by the situation. She had been defeated by cultists, saved by a stranger and ended up being his temporary mistress. It was a bit too much for a single day.  
"Mistress? – Jeggred called after a while, still crouching at her feet – Why were you on the surface?"  
"Why? – she answered casually – I live there."  
His look of total astonishment was priceless.

* * *

Deep in the waters of the bay, the Children of the Infinite Abyss knew that their parent had been killed. They felt its death and stirred to life. Later on they would kill each other until only one of them remained, because there could only be one Son of the Infinite Abyss, but now they had more pressing urges, they would avenge their parent's death.  
They knew who was responsible, the black-skinned priestess and the half-demon and they would kill them, slowly and painfully. Only then they could start their fight for dominance, only then they could really exist.  
Tens of eyes opened in the murky waters. They were going to hunt.


End file.
